TWENTY-FOUR
I WAS STILL IDLING in the shopping-center lot, trying to squash my hair, when Morelli called on my cell phone.
“I finally caught up with Berger,” he said. “They’ve been reviewing security tapes from LAX, and they have Razzle Dazzle on one of them. There were no cameras in the vicinity of the crime scene, but they have Raz leaving your gate area. They checked the plane manifest, and two passengers didn’t reboard at LAX. Crick and a Somali national, Archie Ahmed.”
“Archie Ahmed? Is that Razzle Dazzle?”
“Yeah, apparently Raz has something like sixty-four identities. The Somali government uses him as an operative. Everything from running guns to recruitment to wet work. They probably drop a stack of passports off to him once a month. Berger got tapes from Honolulu International and identified Raz going through security. It looks like he was on your plane.”
“I don’t remember him.”
“Put a hat on him, and he might look human,” Morelli said.
“Did Berger say anything about his source? I mean, how did he know about the photograph?”
“Information from an overseas operative that a courier had passed a photo to you. Berger is going on the assumption that it’s a photo of a hacker the FBI has been looking for.”
“Wonderful. Anything else?”
“Be careful.”
I took Route 1 back to Trenton. I turned off Broad and parked in front of the bonds office. Lancer and Slasher were across the street, sound asleep in the Lincoln. Connie was inside at her desk, wearing a disposable surgical mask.
“What’s with the mask?” I asked her.
“This office reeks,” Connie said. “I don’t know what’s wrong with it.”
Lula tipped her head back and sniffed. “Rat fart,” she said. “They probably got into the deli Dumpster. Smells like they been eating sauerkraut.”
“You’re an expert on this?” I asked her.
“I know a rat fart when I smell one. And there’s more than one rat farting up there. You probably got a rat condo over you. Personally, I don’t like rats. They got those beady eyes, and skinny tails, and they give you the plague.”
Connie was staring at my hair. “Speaking of rats’ nests!”
“Brenda thought I needed to glam up,” I said to Connie.
“It looked good before Miss Prim and Proper here tried to comb it,” Lula said. “She ruined the dramatic effect of the line.”
“I like the color,” Connie said.
“It’s Brenda’s specialty,” Lula said. “It’s called Route 1 Sunrise.”
Connie adjusted her mask. “It takes the attention away from the black eye.”
“I’m leaving,” I said. “The rat farts are getting to me.” I turned to Lula. “I’m going after Magpie tonight. Are you in?”
“Hell, yeah. And if we get done early enough, we could go to a club and test-drive your hair.”
Oh boy.
It took half a bottle of detangler and two sheets of Downy fabric softener to untease my hair. I showered and dressed in jeans and a black T-shirt, my thinking being to not compete clotheswise with Route 1 Sunrise.
At seven-thirty, I grabbed my bag and a black hooded sweatshirt and went to the lobby to wait for Lula. Ordinarily, I’d wait outside, but Raz was still at large, and I didn’t want to chance running into him in the dark.
Lula’s Firebird cruised up to the door, and I jumped in.
“Where we going?” Lula looked over at me.
“All Saints Cemetery. It’s behind the big Catholic church on Nottingham.”
“I know that cemetery. It’s real pretty. It’s got hills and woods and shit.”
Twenty minutes later, Lula pulled into the church parking lot, cut her lights, and crept to the back of the lot, where a single-lane road led into the cemetery. We got out of the Firebird and stood for a moment, letting our eyes adjust to the darkness.
“I smell campfire,” Lula said. “Magpie’s out there, heating his beans like a hobo.”
I had cuffs stuck into my back pocket, stun gun in my sweatshirt pocket, Glock in my bag. I was carrying a Maglite, but I didn’t want to use it and spook Magpie. There was a sliver of moon behind broken clouds. Enough light to see three feet in front but not much more. The church was lit from the front. The rear was dark, as was the graveyard.
“This is creepy,” Lula whispered, following close behind me. “I don’t like walking around cemeteries at night. All the ghosts come out at night. I can feel them breathing on me.”
We were deep into the cemetery when a set of headlights flashed into the parking lot and instantly blinked out. Lancer and Slasher, I thought. In a strange way, it was comforting.
We were following the road, and I could see a dark shape ahead. Something large. Magpie’s Crown Vic. Beyond the Vic, I could hear the crackle of wood burning and see the occasional red ember float skyward. This wasn’t the first time I’d captured Magpie. We had a fairly cordial relationship, all things considered. He wasn’t a violent person.
I stepped around the Vic and called out to Magpie.
“Hey, Magpie,” I said. “It’s Stephanie Plum.”
His fire was small. Just enough to heat a can of beans or roast a hotdog. Magpie wasn’t a big guy. He was 5?5? and slim. Definitely entranced by all things shiny, and very clever at stealing them. When his treasures exceeded his storage space, he’d sell them off for whatever he could get.
Magpie looked past his campfire at us. “How’d you find me?”
“Lucky break,” I said. “You have a nice spot here.”
“It’s one of my favorites. It’s so peaceful.”
He was wearing the usual. Baggy jeans, a plaid flannel shirt, and about $30,000 worth of gold chains.
“You missed your court date,” I said to him.
“Are you sure?”
“Yep. You have to go back with me to reschedule. You’ve already eaten dinner, right?”
“Yes. I was just enjoying the fire.”
“It’s a real nice fire,” Lula said. “Keeps the spooks and ghouls away. And by the way, those are some lovely necklaces you’re wearing. Not everyone understands the importance of accessorizing correctly.”
“I have a whole trunkful,” Magpie said. “I can’t wear them all at the same time. They get too heavy. You can have some if you want.”
“Thanks,” I told him. “That’s nice of you, but we can’t take any. I’ll put the cuffs on you, and Lula and I can put the fire out, and then we’ll go into town. Do you want to ride in the Vic with me? Or do you want to ride in Lula’s Firebird?”
“The Firebird!”
I was about to cuff Magpie when Raz jumped out of the shadows, knife raised. He looked certifiably crazy in the moonlight, bonfire flames reflected in his eyes, and his hair all Wild Man of Borneo.
“Eeeeee!” Lula shrieked. “It’s the Devil. It’s Satan!”
Magpie’s eyes went wide, rolled back into his head, and he crashed over in a dead faint.
“It’s not Satan,” I said to Lula. “It’s Razzle Dazzle.”
Raz lunged at me. “Bitch whore. I burn you good with fire stick until you tell me.”
